owe $120,000 to the American government due to my pursuit of the American dream. Like countless others, I fell victim to predatory lending practices when I took out student loans. My educational journey follows a classic American narrative: a struggling student with hidden talents crosses paths with a compassionate teacher who invests in their potential. Despite financial hardships, the teacher even pays for testing fees, which leads to the student’s success on state tests. This success proves that the student was never unintelligent; they were simply burdened by financial constraints and prioritized their family’s needs.
Despite their checkered past, the student is accepted into a college and discovers their innate brilliance, graduating summa cum laude. They go on to pursue studies at an Ivy League institution, and one would expect a happily ever after ending. However, there is one lingering problem: the tremendous debt that follows them like a haunting shadow, impacting every decision and only fading away during sleep.
If my tone sounds bitter, it is because I am, to some extent. Not for my own sake – as going to college was not a personal desire but a coerced endeavor – but for the sake of my parents and grandparents. They made desperate efforts to build a better life for our family. I am the second person in my family who attempted to escape the cycle of poverty through prayer and relocation. In the 1960s, my maternal grandfather moved our family from Alabama to Tennessee, hoping to achieve success as a country music songwriter.
The American dream has been replaced by a deceptive Ponzi scheme. Prior to college, I seldom ventured beyond the border region between Tennessee and Kentucky. However, during my parents’ divorce, my sister and I were temporarily sent to Alabama, where we witnessed the harsh reality of our extended family’s living conditions. Partially collapsed houses, impoverished neighborhoods, and environmental hazards painted a vivid picture of the life my grandfather had escaped from.
Initially, my grandfather’s pursuit of a music career in Nashville seemed realistic. He had talent and connections within the country music industry. In fact, he had recordings of his original songs performed by Tammy Wynette. But despite his modest success, financial stability always eluded him. He learned the hard way that artistic professions favored the privileged. Instead of freeing himself from trailers and floods, he found himself trapped in low-wage jobs, living in a dilapidated apartment complex outside Nashville. The constant struggle led to depression and addiction, which haunted him for years.
In some ways, it seemed my destiny from birth to embark on a similar journey, this time fulfilling my grandfather’s aspirations. I became the first person in my mother’s family to attend college. Yet, a decade later, as I find myself drowning in debt, I can’t help but believe that being born into poverty means remaining trapped in it. The illusion of meritocracy can be seductive, but history has shown that intergenerational cycles of inequality persist.
Like my grandfather, I possess one primary talent – the capacity to experience and examine heartbreak. After years of intense emotional study, I have reached one conclusion: heartbreak is a source of storytelling, not wealth. Even with all my accomplishments, I have struggled financially throughout my journey.
What has become increasingly clear to me is that the American dream has been exploited by profiteers who take advantage of workers. The pursuit of financial security, usually a prerequisite for achieving the American dream, has become an elusive goal. Instead of seeking fame and fortune, individuals now strive for temporary relief from paycheck-to-paycheck living. The American dream has been replaced by a Ponzi scheme that benefits the wealthy. College degrees, once a symbol of upward mobility and self-improvement, now resemble overpriced products that only ensnare graduates in a lifetime of debt, preventing social mobility and perpetuating the limitations imposed by their socioeconomic backgrounds.
When we examine the facts, it becomes evident that the American education system has become a mechanism for trapping lower-class citizens in a form of indentured servitude. Pulitzer-winning author Isabel Wilkerson accurately describes the United States as a society built on caste divisions, where human value is arbitrarily ranked. The illusion of meritocracy obscures the reality of a hierarchical system that limits opportunities for marginalized communities.
Returning home from my first flight, I was dismayed by the changes I experienced, not in my hometown, but within myself. I no longer seamlessly fit into the place of my birth. My cousins could sense my otherness, labeling it as uppityness. When I spoke, they made biblical allusions, insinuating that my education led to arrogance. They dismissed my thoughts on education, rolling their eyes, and favoring “common sense” over intellectual discourse. In their view, if something felt wrong, it was wrong, regardless of how eloquently one could articulate the reasons. Common sense prioritizes reality over ideals.
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